As I felt little feet kick inside me, my heart was full of anticipation of my first mother’s day. I couldn’t wait to stand together as a family and dedicate our child. As a girl who loves church and all things tradition, the tradition of baby dedication was one closest to my heart.
Yet, three weeks before Ellie was born a current pulled us under and our raft was flooded. In one evening our community, church family, income and direction were whisked down river. On my first Mother’s Day we didn’t have a community of believers to call home and dedicate our new one. We spent the day as a new little family, holding tight to His promises to redeem what was broken.
A year later, standing on the stage, surrounded by our closest friends and several couples in our small group, I fought the tears. He had redeemed what was broken. The picture before us was beyond what I could have hoped or imagined. He had been faithful. We dedicated our sweet Ellie on my second Mother’s Day, more confident of His faithfulness.
Her dress hung several inches past her little doll feet. A tradition from a different time, she was the twelfth child to be dedicated in the gown. The ruffles and lace were a sharp contrast in our modern church – a reminder that He is timeless. The edge of the gown boasted of His faithfulness. Trimmed in the names of those who had gone before her, each name represented a story of His faithfulness. Not a perfect story. Not a story without bumps or stains – a story of redemption.
I need Him to be faithful. I need Him to redeem, because I can’t give her a perfect story – only a redeemed story.
“In the Old Testament, the priest would humbly stand between God and people as a mediator of sorts. He would bring the hopes, dreams, fears, and sins of the people before God as their advocate and intercessor.” – Mark Driscoll
So often I believe that I’m in control. When dreams die it reminds me that He is the author of my story. Jesus, is my High Priest, “bringing my hopes, dreams, fears and sins before God as my advocate and intercessor.” Our story is still being redeemed. Daily we see His hand at work weaving a new story. The process is slower and at times more painful than I would like.
Yet beauty is coming from the ashes.